


One Man and a Baby

by jadey36



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos faces one of his greatest challenges</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Man and a Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this fic: [Babe in Arms](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10693936/1/Babe-in-Arms)

**One Man and a Baby**

Athos leaned over baby Henri and recoiled.

“Madame Bonacieux,” he called.

Silence.

Henri started to cry, wriggling in his cradle.

Athos hissed at the infant to be quiet. He rocked the borrowed cradle. He sang, badly. All without success.

“Constance,” he called, atypical panic creeping into his normally calm and stoic baritone. “I need your help.”

No reply.

Henri’s jagged crying became an unwavering bawl.

Athos recalled how Aramis had told him to hold Henri in order to soothe the babe.

_"It is a baby, Athos. Not a rundlet of the Armangnac. You'd do much better to hold him closer. Tucked up under your chin like this."_

Athos leaned over the cradle again, backed away. _No, no, no._ He was one of the king’s musketeers. Musketeers do not tuck babies with soiled nappies under their chins. The smell would permeate his uniform and quite likely his beard, too.

Henri continued bawling, his face becoming redder by the minute.

With a sinking heart, Athos realised he would have to change the baby’s nappy.

“To battle,” he muttered, unsheathing his rapier.

Athos was a great swordsman; the king’s finest, in fact. He would remove the soiled wrappings with nothing more than a measured flick of the wrist, keeping well away from its contents. Then he would take a large pitcher of water, quickly pour it over Henri’s private parts, thus washing away the worst of the foul mess, and then swiftly wrap Henri in one of Madame Bonacieux’s shawls – job done.

“En garde,” he said, moving in for the kill.

“What _do_ you think you’re doing?”

Athos spun round, rapier held out in front of him. “Madame Bonacieux.”

“Well?” she asked, hands on hips.

“I was just about to change Henri’s nappy,” Athos informed her, lowering his weapon.

“With a sword?”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite the swordsman.”

“A bloody idiot more like. Get out of my way.”

Giving Athos a shove, Constance pushed past him, leaned over the cradle and picked up the still squalling Henri.

“Sword indeed,” she mumbled.

After telling Athos that he was not to leave the room under any circumstances, she deftly changed Henri’s nappy.

“Why is he still crying?” Athos asked, the baby safely back in its cradle.

“I expect he’s hungry,” Constance replied. “We need to get him back to his mother as soon as possible.”

“Agreed.”

Constance picked up Henri and pressed him into Athos’s reluctant arms. “Hold him while I get a blanket. It’s getting cold out there.”

She left the room.

Henri gurgled, his tiny fists clutching at Athos’s beard.

“Ah, I see you’re getting the hang of it,” Aramis said, stepping into the room. “Is the baby ready for travel?”

“Which one?” Constance asked returning with Henri’s blanket.

Aramis glanced between Athos and Constance. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing of any import,” Athos said, gingerly prising Henri’s tiny fists from his beard.

Henri’s face reddened. A foul stench arose as he filled his nappy.

“I believe you know how to do this,” Constance said, her lips twitching in amusement.

She folded her arms across her chest, making it clear she wasn’t going to lift a finger to help.

Athos scowled. “Next time,” he said to Aramis, “I’ll have the fake baby and you can have the real one. Give me exploding barrels, a distraught mother and a dozen sword-wielding ruffians any day.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, my dear fellow. Now do proceed. Time is of the essence.”

Aramis folded his arms across his chest, making it clear that he, too, wasn’t going to lift a finger to help.

Never one to shirk a direct challenge, Athos proceeded, surprising himself with how well he did. He even breathed in a couple of times.

**_~ fin ~_ **

****


End file.
